


The Hunt

by onyxcandy (coveredbyroses)



Series: Dark!Dean Drabbles 2018 [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 13:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/onyxcandy
Summary: It's best not to smart off to Dean Winchester with that mark on his arm.





	The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings

“Jesus  _Christ!”_  you screech, eyes blazing up at your fellow hunter as he wipes the bloody knife against his worn jeans, leaves rusty streaks against blue denim. “You could have severed an artery!”

Dean’s eyes flick to the man hobbling away, hands clasped around the gushing wound on his thigh. “He’ll live,” he grunts, sheathes the just-cleaned blade and tucks it in his back pocket. “I bet he talks next time.”

“I should be hunting  _you_ ,” you growl, upper lip curling in genuine disgust. You really can’t stand the guy, but Sam’s benched with a bad leg after a particularly messy werewolf case and had called you up to take his place. Said he didn’t trust Dean to hunt alone, not with that nasty curse on his arm.

Dean’s shouldering his duffle, ready to head for the Impala parked at the mouth of the alley, but he stops, turns slow to narrow cold eyes at you. “That so?” he says, drops his arm to let his bag thunk to the concrete.

A chill washes over you that has nothing at all to do with the October night air.

“Go ahead then,” he challenges, hunching his shoulders a little as he takes preying steps toward you. “Hunt me.”

“Stop,” you say, taking a step backwards each time he rasps forward. “I just…let’s just go, okay? It’s getting late.” You nod toward the darkening Minnesota evening sky.

He cocks his head, one corner of his mouth curling up in an icy smirk. “Or I could hunt you?” He raises his arm, smoothes his flannel sleeve up to reveal the pulsing mark. “This thing’s got me all revved up.” His smile widens. “I could probably use the extra practice.”

“Dean, come on-”

“Go on, sweetheart…run.”

Before the ice-cold dread can settle in your gut, he’s on you - forcing you, belly-down, to the dirty concrete.

“Dean! Stop!” you try, but then he gets a hand on the back of your head and shoves. You turn at the last second, narrowly escaping a broken nose. Rough cement tears at your cheek and palms as rough hands tear at your jeans.

You scream, loud and piercing, when he jams himself inside, shoves his entire length into you with a single, brutal thrust. Your eyes pool with petrified tears when the crazed hunter gathers both of your wrists in one hand, pins them to the small of your back as he starts to fuck into you.

Dean shifts, leans down to clamp a thick palm over your mouth to stifle your incessant screaming, deepening his already-rapid strokes into your smarting cunt.

It feels like sandpaper, the way he’s dryly plunging into you, and you idly wonder if it hurts him too. You assume not, with the fervor in which he’s moaning and grunting into your ear.

You’re nearly numb by the time he spills into you, your body humming with a dull ache as he slips out to tuck himself away.

You roll over, fine gravel crunching underneath your weight as you peer up at him from behind tear-blurred eyes.

The hunter simply shrugs, bends down to retrieve his forgotten duffle. “Well, I guess I’d better get goin’…I’d offer you a ride, but uh…I already gave you one.” He winks, chuckles at his own joke, and then turns back toward the Impala.


End file.
